


we're like two halves of one heart

by gaystcr



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Based On a Troye Sivan Song, Canon Era, Dancing, Idiots in Love, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Arthur, Waltzing, bc i'm fucking tired of angsty magic reveals, besotted Arthur, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12537652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaystcr/pseuds/gaystcr
Summary: we are, we are, we are.-arthur doesn’t know how to dance. merlin teaches him, and some poetry and awestruck arthur later, they realise the true depth of their feelings.





	we're like two halves of one heart

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey! this is a merthur fic because i watched the series and i'm fucking emotional!!!!!!! this is for isaac, the prettiest boy. thank you for ranting to me about merthur, even though i usually cry and yell about it. happy birthday, friend, and i hope you enjoy this short fic!

“How do you _not_ know how to dance?” asks Merlin, smoothing down the folds of Arthur’s cloak. He looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the _Crown Prince_.”

Arthur shrugs and Merlin frowns, worrying away all the wrinkles, dusting his cloak down again. “I skipped out on all the lessons by bribing my teacher,” says Arthur, and Merlin laughs and shakes his head, fixing Arthur’s collar. Arthur looks at him fondly, something yearning in his chest. It twists suddenly.

“Sounds like something you would do,” agrees Merlin. He looks at Arthur, setting his shirt back in place. “There you go, all done.”

“What’s the point, anyway?” says Arthur, and Merlin rolls his eyes. “It’s a _ball_. I can’t _dance_.”

Merlin picks up Arthur’s sword and hands it to him and Arthur sheaths it into his scabbard. You can never be too careful. “It’s being held in your honour,” says Merlin, resting against the bed frame. “You have to go.”

“You were the one that won the battle,” grumbles Arthur, crossing his arms across his chest like a petulant child. “It should have been held in your honour.”

“Yes, but nobody knows about my magic,” counters Merlin. “Just you, Gaius, Gwen and Morgana. They’ll never believe that the servant boy won the battle that your father has been waging for decades.”

“Well, it still should have.”

“Can’t say I disagree with that. At least I would have been able to dance.”

Arthur gapes, his mouth falling open. Something twists in his chest again, as Merlin rests against his – _Arthur’s_ – bed frame, an easy grin lightly resting on his face. _Fuck_. Arthur clears his throat. “You know how to dance?”

“Of course I do! Not all of us are the Crown Prince, bribing people left and right.”

“Yeah?” asks Arthur, and now it’s almost challenging. The silence probably only lasts three seconds, really, but it’s Merlin-and-Arthur, Arthur-and-Merlin, and they’ve been dancing around each other for years, never really being the ones to have done anything the right way, the way that it’s supposed to be.

Arthur remembers when Merlin told him about the dragon – Kilgarrah – and how their fates were intertwined or whatever. It was shortly after Merlin had hesitantly told him about his magic, and after two days of not looking at Merlin, not talking to Merlin, he broke. People noticed that they weren’t talking. More than two villagers had told him that Merlin was brooding, and Gwen – sweet natured Gwen – had threatened to kill him if he didn’t make up with Merlin. Even his father was concerned, and so Arthur broke. He never could truly hate Merlin – not even if he wanted to.

They had sat together by the fire that night, and Merlin told him everything – almost everything, anyway. Merlin stared pointedly at the fire and it was in that moment – that fucking moment – that Arthur realised that Merlin really wasn’t that bad looking, and yeah, okay, maybe Arthur’s just a little bit in love with him.

In retrospect, he thinks he was better off not knowing.

“Teach me how to dance, then, _Mer_ lin?” says Arthur, and it supposed to sound like a demand, an order, so they could just pretend it’s Arthur being Arthur, and Merlin being Merlin, but they never really were, were they? The question sounds exactly like that – a question – and it sounds fragile and delicate, like it’s about to break around the edges. Merlin’s eyes soften.

“Of course,” he says. “Except dancing takes ages to master and there’s definitely no way you’re gonna master it tonight.”

“Ah yes, Merlin, but you forget, I am Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, the finest kingdom in all of Albion. I have defeated dragons – “

“With my help.”

“ – trolls – “

“Again, with my help.”

“ – evil magical creatures – “

“I recall one of them knocking you out and then a fine young man called _Merlin_ taking your place and protecting you, ergo defeating it.”

Arthur scowls, pouting. “Can I have my moment, Merlin?”

Merlin tilts his head and waits for a second, before holding his hand out. “If you will excuse me, sire, your ego is twice the size of your head. Now, care to dance?”

Arthur lets Merlin pull him in, and it’s way too close for comfort. They never stand _this_ close to each other, do they? Up this close, he can see around six different colours swirling in Merlin’s eyes, and he can see Merlin’s smile in definition and, _fuck_ – are those _freckles_?

Merlin has freckles. _Merlin_ has freckles. Merlin has _freckles_. That’s peachy. That’s fucking peachy.

“Yeah,” breathes Merlin, and it’s nice. It’s really nice to be held by Merlin; to be soft; he never did get the chance to be soft and fragile. “Yeah. So we’re going to do the classic waltz, alright? People don’t usually dance it that much at these events, but your father is quite fond of it.”

Arthur laughs. “How do you know that?” he asks, and he’s still getting used to it, getting used to being this _close_ to Merlin, their fingers intertwined, like they belong together, like they _fit_. Merlin is cupping Arthur’s back, and it’s good, and it feels _safe_.

“I have my ways,” says Merlin, waggling his eyebrows mysteriously. Arthur really does not want to know. “Anyway, so the classic waltz is really easy. It’s a box.”

“A box?”

“A box. You move in a square, and if you _shuffle_ , Arthur Pendragon, I will murder you in cold blood.”

“I won’t shuffle! I’ll...move elegantly.”

“You don’t have a single elegant bone in your body.”

“Merlin - !”

Merlin hushes him. “I’m leading, okay, so – “

“Why are _you_ leading?”

“Because you don’t know how to dance!”

“I’m learning!”

“I’m leading,” says Merlin, and that’s the end of that. “Anyway, so since you’re following, step backwards with your right foot.”

Arthur complies.

“Right foot, Arthur, _right foot_!”

“Sorry,” says Arthur shortly. He looks up at Merlin. “I’m really terrible at this, aren’t I?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Look,” he says softly. “You haven’t even started trying; not properly, right? I promise you’ll be fine.”

“Mmm,” says Arthur, nodding. He shuffles – no, moves elegantly – back and forth, stepping on Merlin’s toes every now and then. But slowly, he does get better, moving forward and backward smoother, easier, and not stepping too much on Merlin’s toes anymore. They swing back and forth, dancing to music only they can hear, caught up in themselves and each other, and Arthur doesn’t think about how right their fingers feel when held together, and Arthur doesn’t think about how he so utterly and completely awestruck he is by Merlin, how he would go to war for him and how he would fight for him and how he wants to hold his hand till the end of days -

He looks up at Merlin excitedly the first time he’s got it completely right, and Merlin is already looking at him with an expression of fondness and suddenly, Arthur can’t breathe anymore. Merlin is so close – so close – and Arthur blurts out the first fucking thing that comes to his mind.

He’d read it somewhere, he doesn’t remember where, but somehow his brain filed it away for this moment – for now. “Paint your love on my flag, give me your name to cry when I go to war,” he says, and it’s quiet, it’s silent, it’s barely a whisper.

Merlin stirs, almost dropping his hold on Arthur. “ _What_?”

Arthur blushes, looking down and shuffling his feet. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“No, you _did_ ,” says Merlin, and it’s almost fucking _gleeful_ , the bastard, “and it was poetry. It was love poetry.”

“It was not!”

“You’re a liar, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Fine!” exclaims Arthur, exasperated. “And so what if it was?”

Silence falls. Merlin’s eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open slightly, as if he can’t – as if he can’t believe that Arthur would – that _Arthur_ would – have, you know – you know! Arthur’s cheeks redden and he keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, mouth shut.

“Come here,” says Merlin, tilting his head up. “Come _here_.”

And then he kisses him, and it’s the best fucking thing that’s Arthur has ever experienced, even surpassing that _one time_ he beat Morgana at a snowball fight and right, yeah, he should probably focus on kissing Merlin because he’s wanted this for fucking _ages_ –

Merlin’s lips are soft, and it’s barely a kiss really – it’s more like a brush of their lips – but Arthur fucking _buckles_ because he’s weak and likes Merlin a lot – a lot – and Merlin laughs and catches him, kissing him again, his lips persistent yet soft against Arthur’s own, and Arthur kisses Merlin back, almost furiously, and it’s good, it’s great and it’s everything that Arthur has ever wanted.

And Merlin breaks away, still holding Arthur, and he’s blushing and grinning and ducking his head and being so _fucking bashful_ that Arthur doesn’t know what to do with himself. His heart yearns to hold Merlin’s hand, to kiss him and to kiss him and to take him out into the forest on picnics and to take care of him and _fuck_ –

Arthur’s gone on him.

He’s still being held in Merlin’s arms, one of them cupping his back and the other intertwined with his hand, and they’re swaying on the spot. He leans his head on Merlin’s shoulder, almost casually, but he can _feel_ Merlin beam and perk up, and it’s soft and it’s fragile and it’s so fucking _good_ , it’s so fucking free and _fuck_.

Merlin leans his head on Arthur’s shoulder, and they’re just swaying back and forth, hardly moving. It’s quiet, and Merlin presses a kiss next to Arthur’s ear, and Arthur shivers, feeling warm and safe and _good_. He leans back and lets go of Merlin’s hand to cup his face and kiss him, again.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Merlin.

Merlin presses his forehead to Arthur’s own and worries his lip in between his teeth. “This isn’t a one time thing, is it?”

Arthur reels. “Of course not! Don’t be an idiot.”

Merlin shrugs. “I just – I just thought – “

“ _Fuck_ – fucking – listen to me! There’s something about you, okay? For some reason I want to take you out into the forest and hold your hand and kiss you and give you flowers and it’s – it’s so strange and different but whenever you _smile_ , my heart flutters like I’m in some sort of romance novel and – “

Merlin hugs him suddenly, fiercely, and Arthur’s cut off. “You _love_ me,” mutters Merlin into Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur’s cheeks redden.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Good. Because I love you too – a lot – and it would be awkward if you didn’t, you know, love me back.”

Arthur blushes and looks away – and God above – he’s never got a proper chance at this, he’s never got a chance to be soft and in love and happy, and he’ll be damned if he lets it go.

He pulls Merlin in for another kiss, and he holds him close and steady against himself, and Merlin hums into it, like he’s happy and warm and content and it’s good. This is good. This is something Arthur thought he would never have.

Merlin breaks away, holding Arthur close. Arthur touches his lips. Merlin tastes of berries and wine – even though he doesn’t drink that often – and it’s so undeniably _Merlin_ , the way he looks at Arthur and smiles at Arthur and kisses Arthur, and fuck, he’s so gone on him.

Merlin smiles, teasing. “Now, what did you say about those flowers?”

 

* * *

 

 

People are dancing all around Arthur.

They’re caught up in their own little worlds, dancing with royalty, nobility and commonfolk alike, but there’s only one person he wants to dance with, one person he wants to hold. Merlin is standing near the food table with Gaius, laughing about something or the other, and Arthur’s heart flutters.

He’s it. He’s it for Arthur, and Arthur knows it. He knows that Merlin is the one to rule his kingdom beside him, the one to wake him up with magic when Arthur’s too lazy. Arthur smoothes his clothes out.

He approaches Merlin, every bit the regal Crown Prince he is. On the inside, however, he’s just Arthur. Arthur, the boy who loves flowers and dogs, the boy who’d be lost without the other side of his coin, without Merlin. And it’s always been them, hasn’t it? Arthur-and-Merlin, Merlin-and-Arthur. The people know them as that, a unit. You never see one without the other.

And yeah, of course Merlin’s it for Arthur. Merlin isn’t a princess, and he isn’t someone he can forge a strong alliance with to unite the kingdoms. But he’s _Merlin_ – the same Merlin who grins and loves children and wakes him up every day with the same cheery smile, the same Merlin who follows him into battle and fights at his side.

It’s good.

Merlin sees him from a distance and grins at him. Arthur walks right up to him and holds a hand out, bending his knees slightly. Merlin smiles, and even though it sounds right out of a fairytale, Arthur knows he’d be lost without it.

“May I have this dance?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment/kudos, maybe?


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